


Hide and Seek

by kuruk



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, POV Second Person, Psychological, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuruk/pseuds/kuruk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those who are dead are not gone, Lucas; they simply live on in your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleLinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Through the Haze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/798024) by [LittleLinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor). 



Your head feels like it's been exposed, the top of your skull sawed open to reveal its contents to the hazy air. It feels all the more unpleasant when you open your eyes, so you endeavor to keep them closed. Instead, you concentrate on the feeling of Duster's hand around your own. The skin of his palm is cool and clammy against yours, and it is only another sharp reminder of how cold you are.

But focusing on Duster is better than anchoring yourself to the stale, sour aftertaste of the mushrooms you had eaten earlier. Somehow, the cold isn't as bad as that. Besides, if you let your head go blank, you almost don't feel anything at all.

"Focus on your steps, Lucas," Duster's voice reminds you. "Slow, steady steps."

Like a child, you do as you are told:

Lift, move forward, fall. Lift, move forward, fall. Lift, move forward -

Something snags your foot and pulls you down. You open your mouth to scream when your hand is torn from Duster's, but the sound dies in your throat, and your chin hits the ground hard. The impact spreads through your jaw and up into your head. The insides of your eyelids swim with spots of pink and purple when you scrunch them up tight. It is more a reflex than a reaction; the pain is so distant you barely feel it.

Dazedly, you pull at your foot. It doesn't come loose.

Something cold closes around your ankle, and you try to scream again.

"Shh, Lucas," someone says. "It's me."

You open your mouth wide enough to tear at the chapped edges of your lips, but your voice breaks against phlegm. When the cold presence at your ankle retreats, then advances to grip at your shoulders and roll you onto your back, you open your eyes.

You blink up at the foliage overhead. The forest is quiet and dark, a wavering mass of shadows and bright, unnatural shades of pink. Gnarled branches tear at the pinkish haze; you cannot see the sky.

Duster peers down at you, his expression pained. "You okay?" he asks hoarsely.

Your head moves up and down in affirmation, but Duster kneels and gingerly prods at your face anyway.

Wind blows through the trees, and the entire forest seems to move with it. Something blue amongst the pink catches your gaze. It hangs from one of the branches, swinging with the breeze.

You let your eyes widen; they look almost like...

The press of Duster's fingers against your chin makes your breath hitch. A dull throb of pain causes your eyes to narrow, and the spot of blue is consumed by the shadows.

"Scrape," Duster murmurs. He turns to look over his shoulder. "He's hurt, could you use -"

You close your eyes briefly, and when you open them you can see it again: a swatch of blue against the haze, hanging from a branch...

("Kumatora?" Duster is saying. The grass rustles as he gets to his feet and takes a step backwards. "Boney?")

They're shoes, you realize. Little blue shoes hanging from knotted laces.

You feel the burn of acid against the back of your throat.

Duster grabs at your hand and forces you onto your feet. "We have to find Kumatora and Boney," he is saying, his tone fervent. "Get up, Lucas."

The world seems to tilt sideways as you're dragged forward. You tilt your head upwards, but see nothing but the trees. The shoes have been consumed by the shadows again.

"Kumatora!" Duster calls. "Boney!"

Something churns violently in your stomach. "I don't -" you begin. You hear the sound of familiar laughter from behind you, somewhere among the trees. You turn to look, and your heartbeat slows.

Your brother is a splash of orange and blue against the shadows. He grins and extends an arm, whole and unblemished, out to you.

"Claus!" you yell.

Someone tugs at your hand, trying to drag you away from him. ("Lucas, what -")

Claus's grin widens into a toothy smile. He turns and breaks off at a run.

"Claus!" you cry, digging your heels into the dirt and pulling back. "Don't go!"

("No, Lucas, listen -")

You manage to pull you arm free with a forceful tug, and then you are running after him. Following the sound of his laughter, you clumsily chase him through the foliage, weaving each time you see a flash of orange out of the corner of your eyes. There is no time to catch your breath; Claus cheated and took the head start. The last one home gets the loser's omelet, and -

You round a hard corner and lose your footing, stumbling dazedly.

Something catches you beneath your shoulders, cold fingers digging into your armpits and pulling you backward.

"Silly Lucas," he says from behind you, his tone playful. "You almost tripped over your own feet!"

There is the sensaton of a breath against nape of your neck. It rustles the fine hairs there and leaves goosebumps in its wake. "C-Claus," you choke out.

"I've got you now," Claus whispers, his breath cool against your ear. "You're okay."

Your heartbeat is too fast, irregular. This can't be real, you think. Claus can't be here, because Claus and Mommy are -

\- but Claus's presence is solid and real at your back. His voice sounds just like you remember it too: like yours, only the slightest bit deeper, rougher. Surely this can't be another one of those dreams? No, it feels too real to be a dream. You don't even remember falling asleep.

"Am I dreaming?" you ask softly.

Claus doesn't reply. Instead, he pulls and lifts you with unusual strength. Your heels drag across the ground until you are on your feet again. You nearly fall forward, but Claus steadies you by sliding his cold fingers down your abdomen to encircle your chest with his arms. Your waterlogged shirt squelches wetly as he squeezes. He rubs meaningless, comforting patterns into the fabric, and you shiver at the familiar sensation.

You want to cry, but find that you cannot; you haven't been able to since the night Claus left. "You came back."

"Of course I did," Claus replies. "I'm your brother; we've gotta stick together."

A sob catches in your throat. "Y-yeah."

For the first time in three years, you feel the smallest measure of peace. You realize that you don't care about anything: the Needles, the Magypsies, the friends who have seen you through countless trials. You want to stay here with Claus forever and sleep with his warmth cradling your own again. The cold, shadowy forest would be bearable if he would only stay by your side.

This is where you belong, if Claus is here too.

The thought of sleeping next to your brother again makes you feel heady. Your eyes droop, heavy with exhaustion...

(Something rustles in the distance, and) Claus lets go.

You teeter a bit before you catch your balance. When you look up, Claus is nowhere to be seen.

Panic slices into your voice like the pointed edge of Daddy's knife. "Claus?" you shout. "Claus?"

You turn in a circle, the pinks and violets blurring. Saliva pools in your mouth; you swallow it back down.

And then he's there again, staring at you blankly.

"Claus!" you yell, taking a step toward him. "D-don't do that again. We're brothers; we have to stick together. You said so yourself." Quietly, you add, "I c-can't lose you again..."

Claus says nothing. He reaches for you instead, and you grab his hand tightly. It is cold against your own, but you let him lift your hand to his chest anyway.

"Feel it?" Claus asks.

You scrunch your eyes in confusion. "Feel what?"

(In the distance, someone calls your name.)

Claus's eyes are impossibly green. They're shining so feverishly bright. "My heart. Can't you feel how it beats in and out?"

"N-no..." You press your hand harder against his chest, straining to feel past the numbness that has permeated your flesh. "I-I don't."

"That's because I'm dead, Lucas."

You blink at him uncomprehendingly. He doesn't look like Mommy. His mouth isn't open the way hers was. There's no blood. "Stop k-kidding around, Claus. You're r-right in front -"

Another blink, and his arm is _gone_. Blood, vividly crimson, gushes along his arm and down his legs. The severed arm rests a few feet away from him, pale and bloodless against the wavering teal of the grass. You look up, gasping, and see that his left eye is hanging out of his socket, the rest of his face caked in dried, rust-colored blood.

Something twists inside of you, and then you a retching, vomiting up a foul mixture of seawater and half-digested mushroom caps. Your eyes sting, your nostrils burn, and you can't _breathe_ -

Claus rubs at your back tenderly in small, comforting patterns. Just like Mommy used to.

"It's okay," he says soothingly. "It's okay."

(You hear the rustling again, closer, your name being called.)

You rise, stare blearily at Claus.

Your brother smiles, leans forward, and kisses the acid off the corner your lips. He smells of moist earth and rot, the cloying odor of the mushrooms belying it all.

("Cla -")

"Lucas!"

It's Duster, his hand warm and alive on your shoulder. He shakes you, and you shut your eyes against the sight of your dead brother.

"Lucas? Can you hear me?"

You don't respond. Instead, you let him pick you up and carry you away from the clearing, away from the stink of stomach acid and mushrooms. You don't need to look back to know that Claus is gone.

"I'm s-s-sorry," you say. Your teeth are chattering. "I-I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he says. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

If Duster doesn't know what you're apologizing for, he doesn't say. You're thankful for that, because you're not quite sure if you know either.

— . . . —

Later, after the four of you have reunited and defeated the Needle's guardians, you catch another flash of orange beneath the Pigmask Commander's helmet as he hurls his lightning PSI at you.

When you wake up, the smell of burnt ozone clinging to your skin, you shakily resolve to blame that on the mushrooms too.


End file.
